


Sleepless Nights

by WordsInTimeAndSpace



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (at least eventually), Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Other, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27192911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsInTimeAndSpace/pseuds/WordsInTimeAndSpace
Summary: Aziraphale has spent thousands of nights not sleeping. It’s nothing special. Except there are nights - usually spent watching over a certain demon - that are more memorable than others.Or: five times Aziraphale didn’t sleep, and one time he did.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 125





	Sleepless Nights

The rain has already started, big fat drops falling from the dark sky, and Crowley is still standing by the railing. Frowning, he looks out over the soon to be flooded lands. Aziraphale watches him for a moment, but when Crowley still doesn’t move while the rain soaks his robe and hair, he steps closer with a huff.

“What are you doing, Cra- Crowley?” he asks, feigning annoyance even as he raises his wings to shield them both from the storm. “Come inside. It’s not particularly comfortable, but at least it’s dry.”

“Just watching how far they’ve gotten,” Crowley says, nodding towards the horizon.

Aziraphale blinks. For a moment he can’t see anything in the dark of the approaching storm, but then he spots it: a group of humans, barely visible in the distance, marching away from the Ark.

“Where are they going?”

“Told them to make a run for it,” Crowley says with a shrug. “They might make it to the mountains in time.”

For a moment, Aziraphale is at a loss of words. “That was very kind of you,” he eventually says.

“I’m not kind,” Crowley snarls. “I’m thwarting you, obviously. If God wants to kill all the humans, best I can do is help them get to safety.”

Aziraphale hesitates. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely more than a whisper. “It might be too late.” No, actually that’s not true - he _knows_ it’s too late, but he can’t get the words over his lips.

Crowley finally looks at him, his eyes hard. “Then I suppose your lot wins this round, angel.”

Aziraphale winces. It doesn’t feel like a win. It feels like anything but that. But it is God’s plan, and he can’t argue with that. He can’t question it, he can’t even have doubts. It’s not his place.

Crowley turns without waiting for a reply. With one last glance at the humans moving towards the horizon, and one quick prayer for their safety, Aziraphale follows him below deck.

They’ve set up camp earlier in a cramped storage room, hidden behind crates and barrels from Noah and his family, anyone who might object to their presence on the Ark. Aziraphale meant it when he said it wasn’t comfortable, but there’s at least an oil lamp for light and enough hay to make sitting on the hard wooden floor somewhat bearable.

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley dries his robe and hair. He paces the small space while Aziraphale sits down, his back against the wall, unsure how to break the tension.

Eventually, Crowley flops down onto the haybed. “I’m going to sleep,” he announces before Aziraphale can figure out what to say.

Confused, he stares at the demon. “What?”

“Sleep, angel. That thing that humans do at night. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen them do that.”

“Of course I have,” Aziraphale says, exasperated. “But why do _you_ sleep? We don’t need it.”

“It’s nice. Being unconscious for a whole eight hours! Not having to deal with any of this!” Crowley gestures wildly around the room, and Aziraphale is unsure if he means the storm raging outside or present company. Maybe he should be insulted, but he’s still too perplexed that Crowley would suggest such a thing. “You should give it a go,” Crowley continues, oblivious to Aziraphale’s confusion.

Aziraphale thinks about it for a second, thinks about the loss of control, the helplessness, that comes with sleep. He shudders. “I think not.”

“Suit yourself,” Crowley says with a shrug.

And with that, he closes his eyes. He continues moving for a while, shifting on the hay, but eventually he goes still. Fascinated, Aziraphale watches how his breath turns slow and even and how the tension fades from his face. The furrow between his brows smoothes until he looks calm and relaxed.

It’s startling, somehow, to see Crowley like that. All open and vulnerable. As if he isn’t sleeping right next to his enemy. As if he trusts Aziraphale.

This realization knocks the air out of Aziraphale’s lungs. It feels utterly undeserved, this trust.

Eyes burning, Aziraphale averts his gaze. He can’t help but feel like a failure. He’s supposed to be a guardian, a protector of humanity, and now the lands are flooding around them and he can’t do anything to stop it. But despite all that, Crowley still trusts him enough to sleep right beside him.

Even if he’d been tempted to sleep before, Aziraphale doesn’t think he’d be able to close his eyes for just a second. This is the least he can do - sit in the dark while Crowley sleeps, watching over him. Keeping him safe when he can’t save anyone else. He’d do anything to be worthy of Crowley’s trust.

And so he sits next to the sleeping demon through the night, listening to the rain pouring onto the deck above, and desperately tries not to let the doubt set in.

* * *

Crowley lets out a groan as Aziraphale gently lowers him onto his bed. The demon rolls onto his back, blearily blinking up at Aziraphale as if he isn’t quite sure how he got from the dingy tavern into a bed that is as comfortable as it gets in the 11th century.

“Huh,” Crowley slurs after a moment, lips curling into a smirk. “Pretty sure that wasn’t part of the arrangement.”

“Oh, you- foul fiend!” Aziraphale splutters as Crowley lets out a snicker. “You know I have as little desire to engage in that sort of thing as you do. I simply didn’t want you to fend for yourself after drinking several bottles of wine.”

Crowley snuggles deeper into the blanket, letting out a content hum. “I know. Appreciate it, angel.”

“Yes, well. Perhaps you’d like to sober up before you’re going to be horribly hungover tomorrow morning.”

Grimacing, Crowley complies. It takes him a few seconds, but when he’s done he immediately looks more alert. He lets his gaze wander through the room, taking in his surroundings for the first time since Aziraphale carried him up the stairs. It’s a rented room in an inn, so there’s not much - just a desk covered in books and scrolls and, as Crowley now seems to realize, one single bed.

“You alright with me taking up your bed, angel?” he asks with a frown.

“Of course. You know I don’t sleep.”

“Still haven’t tried it? Not even a short nap?”

Aziraphale shakes his head. “No. I couldn’t really.”

Genuinely confused, Crowley blinks up at him. “Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be proper.”

Crowley snorts. “You have a demon in your bed, Aziraphale. Pretty sure that isn’t proper either.”

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale fidgets with the hem of his shirt. That’s not something he wants to examine too closely. “Are you going to sleep or not?”

“Yeah.” Crowley lets out a yawn. “What are you gonna do all night?”

“Plenty to read for me. Don’t you worry, my dear.”

Crowley looks over to the desk, and back at Aziraphale. “That chair doesn’t look very comfortable.”

“It’s fine, Crowley.”

“I know, it’s just...” He shuffles to the side, pressing his back against the wall, and pats the free space next to him. “Enough room in here.”

Aziraphale hesitates. Oh, he shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t, but… Crowley is right, he supposes. The bed is quite large. Possibly, miraculously, even a little larger than it was just moments ago. Before he can change his mind, he grabs a book from the desk and sits on the bed, his back against the headboard.

“There,” he says with a huff, trying to ignore the pleased smile on Crowley’s lips. “Happy now?”

“Perfectly,” Crowley grins. “Good night, angel.”

As usual, it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep. Aziraphale tries to keep his gaze fixed on his book, but he can’t help but glance over to Crowley from time to time. He takes in his face, so calm and relaxed in his sleep, and can’t stop the fond smile on his lips.

In theory, he knows he shouldn’t feel like that for a demon. Shouldn’t like him, shouldn’t be his friend. Shouldn’t have formed the arrangement with him. And definitely shouldn’t enjoy watching him sleep.

But he does.

Sometimes, the guilt is so strong and vicious Aziraphale doesn’t quite know how to deal with it. But now, as Crowley shifts in his sleep and presses his shoulder against Aziraphale’s thigh, it’s so very easy to forget about that.

* * *

Walking away from Crowley, leaving him in the Bentley with the tartan thermos flask that might contain the demon’s destruction, is possibly the hardest thing Aziraphale has ever done. He feels numb as he wanders through Soho back to his shop, passing people on a night out and lit up storefronts without really taking any of it in. In some ways, he relishes the numbness. He’s sure the alternative would be worse.

The bookshop feels too quiet, too dark, when he finally steps through the door. He’d never been bothered by the quiet too much, but now it feels deafening. All he wants is to fill it with Crowley’s carefree laughter, but he can’t. Oh, he knows he could call Crowley and ask him to come over, and Crowley would comply in a heartbeat. But he can’t, not until he comes to terms with what he has just done.

All he ever wanted was to keep Crowley safe, from the very first moment they met on that wall in Eden and he shielded the demon from the upcoming rain. No matter how hard he tries to tell himself that giving Crowley the holy water is a form of protection, he can’t shake the dread that he might be responsible for Crowley’s destruction if the holy water isn’t handled carefully, whether deliberately or not.

He knows he should be concerned about other things - about how this is the ultimate betrayal to Heaven, giving his enemy a weapon so powerful. About how much trouble he’d be in if any of the other angels ever find out. But it all pales in comparison to how terrified he is for Crowley’s life.

Aziraphale shakes his head, letting out an unsteady breath. He can’t stand any of these thoughts. He needs to get away, he needs to-

Abruptly, he stops pacing around the shop. He has an idea. Something he never really considered before, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything.

Slowly, he ascends the stairs into the flat above the book shop. At the end of the hallway is a bedroom. It’s filled with books, editions so precious to him that he doesn’t want any customers to lay an eye on them. But despite the stuffed shelves, Aziraphale has always made sure to keep the bed free. He’s never used it, but he always hoped that Crowley would, someday. He just never had the guts to offer it to him before, whenever Crowley was about to doze off on the couch downstairs.

Now, Aziraphale fluffs up the blanket that is still as fresh and clean as the day he miracled it there so many years ago. He lies down, pulling the blanket over himself. Somehow, it feels awkward. Whenever Crowley curls up in a bed, it looks so natural, so relaxing. Aziraphale is only painfully aware of how stiff he is. He doesn’t quite know how to sleep, but he’s sure that relaxing is one important step.

But he still wants to try. Being alone with his thoughts all night long seems unbearable. He’d wondered so often why Crowley liked to sleep, and maybe this was it. The reason why he slept on the Ark, the reason why he slept for nearly a century after he’d first asked for holy water. Sometimes the world is just too much, and sleep the only escape.

Aziraphale closes his eyes, tries to slow down his breathing. He’s exhausted, emotionally if not physically, but still sleep doesn’t come. He lies there in the dark, not sleeping, until the morning comes.

* * *

Midnight has long come and gone, and Crowley and Aziraphale are still drinking in the backroom of the bookshop. Their conversation has slowed down in the last hour or so, after they fleshed out their plan to cancel out each other’s influence on the antichrist, in the desperate hope that he grows up into an ordinary human. There’s lots of things to work on, but for tonight everything has been said and done. Still, Aziraphale is reluctant to part from Crowley. Apparently Crowley feels the same. He hasn’t shown the slightest inclination to move from where he slouches on the couch, despite clearly being exhausted.

They’ve been silent for a while, and Aziraphale watches Crowley over the rim of his glass. Crowley’s head lolls to the side, his eyes slipping shut, and Aziraphale nearly thinks the demon will get some well deserved sleep. But Crowley jerks his head up after just a moment, blinking against the exhaustion that is threatening to take over.

“My dear boy, you look tired,” Aziraphale says, his voice quiet. “Why don’t you lie down for a nap?”

Crowley suddenly sits up straighter, shaking his head as if that might chase away the fatigue. “No,” he finally gets out. “Best not. Eleven years is not a lot of time, angel. I don’t think we can afford to waste any time on things like sleeping.”

Aziraphale knows it’s an excuse - they finished their scheming hours ago before returning to the wine - but he also doesn’t protest. He just purses his lips, watching Crowley in concern. He knows that Crowley gets nightmares sometimes, vicious and terrifying things, and he can’t really blame him for not wanting to close his eyes after just delivering the antichrist. He doesn’t want to imagine what he might see.

“All right, then,” he finally says. Crowley relaxes slightly, obviously relieved he doesn’t have to argue. His head lolls back against the back of the couch, although this time his eyes stay alert. The tension doesn’t fade from his face.

That night, neither of them sleeps. They pass the bottle back and forth, talking about everything and nothing. Secretly, Aziraphale wishes the night would never end, that they could exist forever in the sanctuary that is the backroom of his bookshop. But eventually, the world awakes around them. The spell of the night is broken. Crowley says his goodbyes, stiff and formal, and it takes all of Aziraphale’s willpower to not hold him back. He knows he can’t, no matter how much he wants to.

They have a world to save.

* * *

Crowley is half asleep by the time they make it back to London and step into his flat. With all he’s done today, Aziraphale is surprised he held out that long. But no matter how tired he must be, how much he sways on his feet, his grip on Aziraphale’s hand is still firm. He hasn’t let go since they boarded the bus, and Aziraphale is more than grateful for it. It’s been an impossibly long day, but Crowley’s touch grounds him more than anything else in the world.

“There we go,” Aziraphale says, his voice low, as he shuts the door behind him. “Let’s get you to bed, darling.”

Crowley doesn’t protest as Aziraphale steers him toward the bedroom. He all but collapses onto the black sheets as soon as they make it to the bed, shoes and sunglasses still on.

Aziraphale peels off his boots for him, and then nudges Crowley’s shoulder until the demon rolls onto his back with a grumble.

“You can go to sleep in a moment, dear, but I don’t think these are very comfortable,” Aziraphale says, tapping a finger against the rim of Crowley’s glasses. “Can I take these off?”

Crowley is quiet for so long that Aziraphale begins to suspect he’s already fallen asleep. But then Crowley moves so fast it nearly makes Aziraphale jump. He knocks Aziraphale’s hand aside, rips the glasses off his face himself and flings them onto the nightstand.

“Sorry,” Crowley mutters, not meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. “It’s just… Hastur took them off earlier, in the car.”

“Don’t you dare apologize for that,” Aziraphale protests. A bit hesitant, he reaches out to Crowley again, letting out a breath of relief when Crowley presses his cheek against his palm. An invitation to touch. “I’m so sorry he did that to you,” Aziraphale continues, quieter this time, as he brushes his thumb over Crowley’s cheek. Crowley lets out a hum in the back of his throat, his eyes slipping shut.

“You should get some sleep.”

Suddenly, Crowley’s eyes open again, wide and panicked. “The prophecy,” he gasps, struggling to sit up.

“What about it?”

“We still have to figure it out.”

“You need rest, Crowley. Let me take care of that.”

“But-”

“No buts,” Aziraphale insists, gripping Crowley’s shoulder to prevent him from jumping out of bed. “My dear, you have done so much today to keep us and all of humanity safe. I can take over for a while.”

Crowley looks like he’s about to argue some more, but eventually sags back down. “Fine,” he grumbles, running a hand over his face. “But at least get into the bed, angel.”

Aziraphale smiles. “Of course. I’m not planning to go anywhere.”

Crowley shuffles to the side, making enough room for Aziraphale to sit comfortably right next to him. They have done this dozens of nights before, but somehow, it feels different tonight. There’s no guilt, there’s no doubt. For once, Aziraphale is sure that this is exactly where he’s supposed to be. More than that, exactly where he _wants_ to be. Right next to Crowley, watching over him as he sleeps. He’s made his choice.

As soon as Crowley is curled up on his side and Aziraphale has settled against the headboard, he reaches out to take Crowley’s hand. Crowley smiles, his eyes already closed, as he slips his fingers through Aziraphale’s. Tonight was the first time they’ve held hands, properly, intentionally, instead of just a fleeting brush of fingers. It already feels more natural than breathing.

Exhaustion finally catching up with him, Crowley only takes minutes to fall asleep. He shuffles a little closer to Aziraphale and finally goes still, their hands still entwined.

During the night, Aziraphale sits, and thinks, soothes Crowley when his nightmares hit, and thinks some more. Early in the morning, when the first rays of sunshine creep over the horizon and Crowley blinks his eyes open, Aziraphale is still right next to him to greet him with a plan.

* * *

It’s over.

They’ve won.

They’ve tricked both Heaven and Hell, and they’re finally free to do whatever they’d like to do.

Aziraphale knows all this, but he still can’t shake the dread creeping up on him once they’re back from the Ritz. His hands tremble as he pours their tea, and he actually has to take a few minutes to calm his breathing before he steps back into the backroom where Crowley is lounging on the couch.

Crowley looks utterly relaxed, his sunglasses discarded on the coffee table, his head propped up on the armrest and one leg spread out on the couch. For a second Aziraphale is startled by the stark contrast to how anxious he feels, but he makes sure to put on a smile before Crowley looks at him. It wouldn’t do to worry the demon, not after what they’ve been through in the last few days.

“Here you are,” Aziraphale says, setting the tea down on the coffee table before sitting on the opposite end on the couch.

There’s something - maybe the waver in his voice, or the quiver of his lip - that gives him away. Crowley sits up a little straighter, regarding him with a careful look.

“You alright, angel?” he asks quietly.

“Of course. Fine. Tip-top!” Aziraphale gets out in a hurry, but his voice is breaking.

Crowley frowns at him, eyebrows drawn together in worry. “Out with it. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Aziraphale says miserably, and he means it. There is nothing wrong, and he can’t explain why he still feels like the world is going to end. He jumps up from the couch, desperate to escape Crowley’s concerned gaze, but of course the demon follows him.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley begins, carefully reaching out to him. It’s the impossible gentleness in his voice that finally makes Aziraphale’s tears spill over. Exhausted and overwhelmed, shaking so badly that Aziraphale is glad he’s not holding his teacup anymore, he does the only thing that seems sensible: he throws himself into Crowley’s arms.

They’ve never hugged before, but Crowley doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Aziraphale, holding him so tight until it feels like he’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“What’s wrong?” Crowley asks again, right into his ear, rubbing his hands along Aziraphale’s spine.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Aziraphale sobs into his neck, clinging a little tighter. “I don’t know why I feel like this. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Crowley lets out an understanding hum. “It’s alright. Sometimes things just catch up with you. It happens.”

“Well, I’d like it to stop.”

Crowley’s chest rumbles as he lets out a short laugh, and Aziraphale marvels in the fact that he can actually feel it. He’s suddenly painfully aware how close they are, bodies pressed together from head to toe. It’s simultaneously the most terrifying and exhilarating thing, and he can’t imagine ever letting go.

“Come on,” Crowley says, oh so gently. “Let’s lie down for a second.”

He moves them towards the couch, but Aziraphale stops him. “Bed,” he croaks.

“What?”

“Bed. I have a bed upstairs.”

“Okay,” Crowley breathes out, guiding Aziraphale upstairs without ever easing his grip around his shoulders. Aziraphale clings to him when Crowley urges him to lie down, and so they find themselves in bed together, still entwined. Crowley keeps holding him close, and as Aziraphale hides his face in the crook of his neck, his tears slowly subside.

Crowley presses a feather-light kiss to the top of his head. “I know it’s not your thing, but maybe you should sleep,” he says quietly.

Aziraphale sniffles. “I don’t know how,” he admits. He doesn’t want to think about that one night when he tried and failed to sleep.

“I’ll show you how. Close your eyes.”

“They are already closed.”

“Great, good job, gold star for you,” Crowley grins. “Now you’ve just got to relax.”

Aziraphale tries, but gives up after a few seconds. “I don’t know how to do that either.”

“Don’t worry, you’re doing okay on that so far. Let me help.” Crowley slips one leg between Aziraphale’s, bringing him impossibly closer. He still has one arm wrapped around his shoulder, his fingers drawing circles onto his back, and moves the other one higher to stroke his fingertips along Aziraphale’s neck. He massages away the tension in Aziraphale’s muscles, and when his fingers eventually slip into Aziraphale’s hair, he’s already boneless in Crowley’s arms.

“There you go,” Crowley whispers. “Sleep, angel. I’ve got you.”

Aziraphale lets the exhaustion wash over him, making his limbs heavy. He remembers how he always thought falling asleep would be terrifying - the vulnerability, the helplessness of it. But now, wrapped into Crowley’s arms, without fear of repercussion from Heaven or Hell, Aziraphale only feels safe. He knows Crowley would never let any harm come to him. He smiles into Crowley’s neck, and before he can comprehend what’s happening the soft touches and quiet whispers lull him to sleep.

* * *

Waking up is a little disorienting at first. Aziraphale comes back to consciousness only gradually. The first thing he becomes aware of is a firm body pressed against his own and arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. He nearly panics in the one second it takes him to recognize the familiar scent. Letting out a breath, he allows himself to relax again, sagging against the body holding him close. It’s Crowley. Of course it is.

“Good morning, angel,” comes the familiar voice of the demon, low and rumbling. Aziraphale can’t help but smile.

“Good morning, my dear,” he says as he blinks open his eyes, moving away from the crook of Crowley’s neck just enough to see his face. Golden eyes greet him, loving and tender.

“Sleep okay?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale takes a moment to ponder that question. He can’t remember anything from the night, no dreams or nightmares. But he feels rested, impossibly so, relaxed and content in a way he hadn’t felt in ages. “Yes, I believe so,” he eventually says.

“Good.” Crowley grins. “You slept a whole ten hours. Not bad for your first try.”

“Oh, dear. I hadn’t intended for it to be that long.”

Crowley only shrugs. “Looks like you needed it. You probably had some catching up to do.”

“Did you get some sleep as well?”

“Nah. Told you I’d watch over you, didn’t I?”

Aziraphale blinks at him, perplexed. He’d expected Crowley to need a good night’s sleep as well, after the trials. He did get to sleep the night before, of course, but...

“You’re not tired?” Aziraphale asks, searching the demon’s face.

“I’m fine,” Crowley insists, but he does let out a yawn as Aziraphale narrows his eyes at him. “Maybe a nap this afternoon on your couch, if you don’t mind.”

Smiling, Aziraphale reaches out to brush a lock of red hair out of Crowley’s face. “You’re more than welcome to do that. I will watch over you this time.”

Crowley is quiet for a moment. “You don’t have to, you know,” he finally says.

“What?”

“Watch over me. They’ll leave us alone, angel. No need to stand watch at all times anymore. We could even sleep at the same time, now.”

The idea stuns Aziraphale for a moment. He thinks he might need some time until he’s comfortable with that, but then… oh, it’s the most tempting thing. He allows himself to imagine it - falling asleep in Crowley’s arms again, like he did last night but with Crowley relaxed and sleepy as well. Holding Crowley through the night, his nose buried in his red hair. Waking up together - either like today, or with Crowley still asleep, so he gets to see the marvel that is the first smile on Crowley’s lips as soon as he blinks open his eyes. So many possibilities, and Aziraphale wants to experience them all. Wants to spend all his nights like this, for as long as the universe allows.

He smiles, beaming and wide, and Crowley answers with a blinding smile on his own. “That, my dear,” Aziraphale starts, “sounds simply marvelous.”


End file.
